


Trace Each Other's Scars

by bayloriffic



Category: V (2009)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-24
Updated: 2012-01-24
Packaged: 2017-10-30 01:20:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/326177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bayloriffic/pseuds/bayloriffic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erica knows this is a bad idea -- she’s overtired and Hobbes is probably still a little high from the blood loss -- but then he’s got one hand snaking up underneath her shirt, and she can’t bring herself to stop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trace Each Other's Scars

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [these](http://pics.livejournal.com/bayloriffic/pic/0000gqkc/g10) [promo pictures](http://pics.livejournal.com/bayloriffic/pic/0000fg3t/g10) for episode 2.08

They're at a warehouse in Queens, trying to find one of the V-research cells that Eli tipped them off to when everything goes to hell. It was supposed to be a pretty straightforward mission: just go in, destroy the research, and get the hell out before the Vs know what hit them. 

But either Eli’s turned on them already or the Visitors are more paranoid than they thought, because when Erica’s own little scrappy 5th Column cell busts in, the Vs are ready for them. 

The whole mission’s a disaster -- that's clear from the moment they get to the warehouse -- but they’ve got to do something. So they do what they can, crouching in doorways and taking out as many Vs as possible before making it out of there as quick as they can. 

On the way out, Hobbes takes a hit to the chest covering for Erica and, suddenly, everything’s just complete chaos. 

*

Sidney drives their van back to his lab, freaking out the whole time. Erica sits up front next to him, talking to him in soothing tones, just trying to calm him down enough to get them safely back to his lab.

In the backseat, Jack’s talking low to Hobbes, his hand pressed firm against the bullet wound in his chest. Hobbes hasn’t made any noise in a while. 

When Erica glances back there, Hobbes almost looks dead, his face is pale and still and he's not responding to Jack at all. Jack has managed to get his jacket off and he's examining the wound through Hobbes’s shirt, squinting hard into the dim light of the truck. 

After a few seconds, he glances up at her and she can tell by the look on his face that it’s serious.

Erica bites her lip and scrubs a hand across her face, turning back to look out the windshield and trying to focus on anything other than the thick, coppery smell of Hobbes's blood. 

*

By the time they make it back to Sidney’s lab, the whole left side of Hobbes's body is covered in blood, his gray t-shirt turned blackish-purple and completely soaked through. 

Erica helps Jack carry him inside, Hobbes's body limp and heavy in her arms; as best she can tell, he's unconscious, his face slack, his breathing labored and shallow. 

Looking at him, Erica feels like her heart isn’t beating right, going fast and stuttery in her chest, and she’s got a sick feeling, deep in her stomach. There’s just so much blood. 

Luckily, Sidney's got a first aid kit, filled with bandages and alcohol swabs, and Jack finds a mini sewing kit in one of the desks in the back of the lab. Erica works on cleaning Hobbes up, swabbing the wound and wiping the blood off his body, while Jack starts suturing, trying to stop the blood flow.

It takes a while, but eventually Jack manages to stitch up the bullet wound neat enough so that it stops bleeding altogether. There's not much she can do at this point, so Erica just stands back and watches, still trying to calm Sidney down and wishing there was something else she could do. 

Somehow, she ends up holding Hobbes's jacket -- she's not even sure where it came from -- but she clutches it to her as tight as she can, the thick fabric rough and comforting. 

After an hour or so Jack and Sidney head home, both of them looking exhausted and shell-shocked. Erica volunteers to stay behind, to make sure Hobbes comes out of it okay. 

She sits at the desk, head down, surrounded by beakers and lab equipment, using Hobbes’s jacket like a pillow, and watching as his chest rises and falls. 

*

A few hours later, she comes awake with a jerk, Hobbes's jacket pressed against her cheek and the remnants of a nightmare still flitting through her head.

When she sits up, Hobbes is awake and watching her, looking at her steadily through half-shut eyes.

"Hey," she says, blinking at him. She's got no idea how long she was out, but she still feels drained, like she hasn't slept at all.

"Sweet dreams?" he asks. His voice is gruff and scratchy, like he hasn't been awake for very long either.

"Hardly," Erica says. She presses the heels of her hands against her eyes, trying to block out the half-remembered dream. Something about being on one of the V ships, being chased by something she couldn't ever quite make out. When she drops her hands, Hobbes is giving her an appraising look. 

"How about you?" she asks, just to say something. "Any dreams?"

"Yeah," he says, his mouth turned up in a half-smile. "It's hazy, but I'm pretty sure you were there. Fancy dress. Gun strapped to your thigh..." 

Erica laughs, shaking her head a little, and Hobbes grins back at her.

They just stare at each other for a few more seconds, both of them smiling, until Erica clears her throat and looks away. It's been a weird night.

“So,” he finally says, reaching up to gingerly brush three fingers against the stitched-up bullet wound. “This your handiwork?”

Erica shakes her head and grabs the jacket off the table. “Jack’s.”

“Right,” he says, moving his hand away and wincing just a little. “Well. I hope you protected my honor while the priest was manhandling me.” 

Erica huffs out a laugh. “Not necessary. I doubt Jack even entertains anything approaching an impure thought these days,” she says, draping the jacket around him and nodding at him to lift his arms as best he can. His right arm comes up easy enough, but he grimaces when he tries to move the left side of his body. She reaches over and slides the coat gently over his left arm. 

He gives her a knowing look as she holds his left hand softly and concentrates on guiding it through the arm of the jacket. Jesus, she can't believe she's actually talking to him about Jack and his lack of impure thoughts. She needs to get some real sleep.

“Yeah, well,” Hobbes says, wincing a little as her hand brushes against his bandaged shoulder. “Righteous moral angst can be pretty all-consuming, I guess.”

Erica shrugs, not really want to continue this particular line of discussion with him, and finishes pulling the jacket over his shoulders, leaving her knuckles resting lightly against his chest. 

The way they’re positioned right now, there’s barely any space at all between them and Erica’s suddenly very conscious of the way Hobbes’s legs are pressed up against hers, they way his knees are practically bracketing her hips and she guesses by the way he’s looking at her, all dark eyes and clenched jaw, that he notices as well. 

“So,” she says, clearing her throat and taking a step back. “You okay?”

“Never better.” 

He settles into his jacket a little and Erica can’t help but notice how small it makes him look. Vulnerable, almost. Innocent. 

Then he ruins it with a smirk. “Don’t worry about me, Agent Evans. We’re fighting a war, right? There’s bound to be some collateral damage,” he says, still smirking that obnoxious smirk. “Besides, you’ve got another terrorist in your little merry band of freedom fighters now. You’d hardly even know I was gone--”

"Stop," she says, clenching her fist around the fabric of his jacket. She takes a step closer to him, close enough that her thighs press against his. 

He looks up at her then, not smirking for a change and it strikes her how dangerous he suddenly looks, all dark stubble and hooded eyes, and this kind of world-weary intensity that she can’t quite look away from. 

“Don’t scare me like that again, Kyle.” She pulls him by the lapels of his coat, tugging him closer until her fingers press up against his skin. “I -- ," she stops, takes a breath. "We need you.” 

"Is that right?" he says, voice low.

Erica doesn't respond right away, just takes another step closer to him. He opens his legs a little around her, his knees around her hips. She presses her hand lightly against his chest, so her palm is flat, and she means to push him away -- she does -- but he's looking at her in this way that makes her stomach flip and it's like she can't quite think straight.

She moves forward just a little, but it's enough and he leans up and kisses her, gentle at first, not at all like she’d have thought he’d be, running his tongue softly against her lower lip. 

She kisses him back, taking her cue from him, going soft and slow. But after just a few seconds, he opens his mouth under hers and she kisses him hard and insistent, pressing herself against him everywhere she can. 

Erica knows this is a bad idea -- she’s overtired and Hobbes is probably still a little high from the blood loss -- but then he’s got one hand snaking up underneath her shirt and she can’t bring herself to stop.

So she leans into him, stepping close so that his knee presses between her thighs. She reaches up and pushes the jacket off his shoulders, a little roughly, and he gasps in pain when she grazes the bandage on his shoulder. 

She blinks at him, feeling a little punch-drunk. She’s exhausted and the adrenaline rush from earlier hasn’t completely worn off, her heart racing and this jittery feeling all throughout her body. “Sorry,” she says breathlessly.

“Don’t worry about it," he says though gritted teeth. He leans forward and kisses her again, more urgent this time, and they manage to get the jacket all the way off, Erica being extra-careful not to hurt him again.

Hobbes reaches up and slides his hand higher up under her shirt, cupping her breast in his hand, brushing his thumb across the nipple until it hardens under his fingers. She moans and he smiles against her mouth.

She moves her hand lower, stroking him through his jeans. He groans and Erica flicks open the button on his jeans and then starts working them down off his hips. Hobbes raises himself up as best he can, one hand pressing down on her shoulder for support. 

She gets his jeans off and he’s not wearing anything underneath (of course, she thinks, smiling a little to herself) and she wraps her hand around his cock, stroking her thumb across the tip, and he gasps into her ear. She tightens her hand around him and starts to jerk him off, and he keeps making these noises deep in his throat, his breath warm against her face. 

Hobbes reaches out and undoes the button on her jeans, snaking his good hand inside, moving his fingers down to where she’s so, so wet. He slides two fingers inside of her, working them in this way that makes her close her eyes and bite her lip and make these kind of low, encouraging sounds that she should probably be embarrassed about. 

With his free hand, he tries to push her jeans down, but his injured arm won't cooperate, so she helps him out as best she can, stumbling just a little as she kicks them to the ground. Her gun's still strapped tight to her hip and when she starts to take it off, Hobbes reaches up and stops her. She smirks, and leaves the gun where it is. 

She’s still just jerking him off, moving in time with his fingers inside of her, working in this steady rhythm that feels unbelievable. 

After a few minutes, Erica starts to kiss down his body, sliding her tongue along the planes of his chest. He tastes a little like blood, the sharp, coppery taste filling her mouth. By the time she works her way down to his stomach, Hobbes goes stock-still beneath her, his whole body tense in anticipation. 

Erica starts licking him, her tongue darting up the thick vein that runs up the underside of his cock. Hobbes jerks against her, fisting his hand in her hair. She takes him in her mouth, reaching down with one hand to softly stroke his balls and he throws his head back and groans, loud enough that it echoes off the concrete walls of the lab. 

After just a few minutes, he starts thrusting harder, his hips moving in a more irregular rhythm, and he reaches down and put one hand firm against her arm, urging her up. 

When she gets back up to him, he pulls her roughly to him, kissing her long and hard, both of them breathing so loud, it’s all Erica can hear.

She hitches one leg up, kneeling on the lab table so that she can straddle him, her legs bracketing his hips. His mouth is open a little, his lips red and wet, and his eyes are so dilated they're almost black. Erica takes him in her hand and guides him inside of her, gasping and pressing her mouth against his neck, nipping at him a little with her teeth.

Hobbes grabs her hips and pushes inside of her, digging his fingers hard against her skin. There’ll probably be bruises there in the morning, but Erica doesn’t care, just keeps moving against him, rocking harder and faster. 

When he comes, he fists his hand in her hair and breathes her name against her ear in this way that makes her shiver and follow him right over the edge. 

She keeps her eyes open when she comes, staring right at him, and she knows this is a bad idea, but she doesn’t care, just keeps rocking against him, gasping a little as she rides it out.

*

Hobbes falls asleep right after, his chest pressed against her back and his injured arm draped around her waist. Erica can feel the place where is bandage touches her skin, the surgical tape sticking to her a little whenever she moves.

She should probably get home, she knows -- Tyler's probably wondering where she is, and she’s got to be at work first thing in the morning, ready to play the part of the upstanding, loyal FBI agent, and a thousand other good reasons not to stay here tonight -- but Hobbes is warm against her, comforting and solid, and she’s just so, so tired. 

Behind her, Hobbes sighs and moves closer, pressing himself close enough so that she can feel the steady beat of his heart against her back. She thinks again about leaving, but instead just leans back into him, closing her eyes and staying right where she is.


End file.
